


The Lord's Work

by casstayinmyass



Category: Let Me Make You a Martyr (2016)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, F/M, Fingerfucking, Hugs, Jealousy, Killing, Lap Sex, Murder, Oral Sex, Revenge, Revenge Sex, Sexual Harassment, Vaginal Fingering, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 20:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20315884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: Your lover and protector, dangerous in his own right, deals with matters after a run in at a local bar.





	The Lord's Work

You walk up to the bar, and order a drink.

“How much?” you ask absently, taking a quick look to your left and right.

“For you, darling? Shit. It’s on the house,” the bartender gives you a wide smile, and you wink at him in thanks, grabbing your rum and coke and heading to find a booth.

“You here with someone, sugar tits?”

It’s a drawling voice behind you, but not a pleasant one. It’s rough, but not in the way you like. You turn slowly, taking the man in. He’s twice your size, large, round, red-faced, and probably three drinks down the hole.

“Yeah,” you lie, narrowing your eyes. “Why’s it your business?”

“Well, I was thinkin’… sweet little thing like you, might need a good pounding tonight. I’m on the menu, babygirl.” You flinch. _There’s only one man who can call you babygirl, and he hadn’t been able to come tonight._

Pope knows you’re loyal—you’d never, ever betray him, and vice versa. Your relationship is built on trust, every level of it, so when either one of you goes out, enticement is guaranteed not to work.

You wish he didn’t have to deal with business tonight—some idiot motherfucker could wait til tomorrow to die, right? But that’s not how Pope operates. He’s hired, he gets the job done, and that’s that. No fucking around.

“I’ve got a good pounding waiting for me at home,” you shoot him the finger back, turning to go.

“I bet you’re a slut, honey. You can take two poundings in one night. Maybe more. I’ve got someone to meet in about half an hour, but I’ve always got time for a nice quickie.” You keep walking, but finally feel the man’s hand on your shoulder. “Woah, woah, what’s your hurry, little girl?” the guy smirks. “Just wanna play.”

You clench your jaw, thinking of your boyfriend and what he’d do if he was here right now. “You don’t wanna do this.”

“Nah,” he feels a hand down to your ass, “I really think I do.”

He pulls you in, gets his big arms around you, and tries to force you in for a kiss. You knee him in the crotch, and swiftly punch him in the face, splashing your drink in his face to make the split burn.

“FUCK!” he shouts, grabbing blindly for you, and as he’s struggling, you reach into his back pocket, pulling his wallet and snatching his ID.

Hurrying out of the club, you hail a cab, and slip your sunglasses on. Why do you even bother going out without Pope? It always turns into a shit show like this.

You lament the fact that your night is over so soon. You could find another bar, but at this point, you’re not in the mood anymore. The taxi pulls up to the doorstep of the motel Pope said he’d be in, waiting for his hit.

You knock three times, pausing before the third, and Pope opens it; it’s your secret knock. He immediately pulls you into a hug when you fall into his chest. A little confused, the much taller, bulkier man draws back just enough to rest his chin on your head.

“What’s the matter with my babygirl, hm? Thought you were out tonight… paintin’ the town.”

You revel in the soothing depth of his gravelly voice, letting it flow over you. “Baby, something happened.”

He pauses, resting his lips beside your ear. He presses three soft kisses to your cheekbone, and whispers: “I know. I can smell his sweat on you.”

You shiver, and pull out the man’s ID from your back pocket, showing Pope. His gaze trains on it, over the name _Edward Maddle _beside the creepy photograph. The murderous look in his own dark eyes is as horrifying as ever, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you wet. 

You clutch his arm, and Pope keeps you there, grabbing his gun. “The hit can wait. I’ve got a fuckin’ lowlife to rid the Earth of, it seems.”

Just then, the doorknob rattles, and five off-kelter bangs sound on the door. Pope lifts his chin in curiosity, and gestures to the bathroom. You dart off to wait, not bothering to tell him to be careful—you know whoever’s at that door has no chance in hell.

Watching through the crack, you see him open it. It’s the man from the bar. Pope, being quicker than most on the uptake, notices this almost immediately.

“Edward Maddle.”

“Yeah. Uh, you Glass?” The guy’s gaze shifts around. _So, he was a criminal too. Real swell guy._

“I’m a mutual friend.”

The man, Edward, frowns, reaching behind him. “I didn’t come to speak with no fucking mutual friend, assface, I came to speak with—”

Pope takes out his own gun, locked and loaded, and points it at Edward. “Put that down.” 

The guy is smarter than you thought. He puts his weapon down, and his hands raise. “Look, I thought we had some kinda business deal here… why’d you show up, ‘stead of him?!”

“Not my job to ask questions.” Pope rests his chin on tented fingers. “Not your job either, at this point. To be honest with you, I have no clue in hell why you’re here, or what this bullshit business deal is about. I have work to do, and I plan to follow through with it.” 

Edward reaches to leave, and Pope’s finger dances on the trigger. “You open that door, you’ll be one billion pieces of flesh splattered on my motel room wall.” He considers this with a tilt of his head. “Not that you won’t be anyway.”

You come sauntering out from the bathroom, and Edward does a double take. He looks visibly pained. “Aw, shit.”

“I told you, you didn’t want to do that,” you smirk, and sit on Pope’s knee as he starts to rub up your back.

“You met (y/n) at the bar, is that right?” The gun raises when no answer is given. “Is that fuckin’ right?”

“Yes,” Edward growls.

“One could even say, you… took a liking to her,” Pope goes on, rubbing up your arm now.

“Well, who wouldn’t?” Edward had the nerve to retort. Pope stares for a very long time.

“Who wouldn’t? Hm. God damn good question you’ve got there. Someone who wants to keep their head on their shoulders, I’d say.”

Silence. Not a word out of Edward this time.

“Stand for daddy,” Pope murmurs to you, and you do as he asks.

“Did you wanna do this to her, Mr. Maddle?” Pope asks softly, pattering his fingers up your inner thighs. You suck in a breath, as his fingers start to dance between your legs. “This, right?” He starts dragging his fingers against your pussy through your shorts, back and forth, back and forth. It takes everything in you not to cry out and grind down, but you keep calm for the demonstration.

“Look,” the guy says, voice trembling ever so slightly, “I never knew… she just looked like some slut!”

“Yeah. She’s a slut,” Pope says, grip tightening on the back of your neck, “But she’s _my_ slut. Always will be.” You can’t help it—you let out a high moan as he rubs you just right, falling back to sit on his thigh. Pope seems to enjoy this, resting his chin in the nape of your neck.

“Listen to the kitty purr,” he rasps, rubbing you harder, keeping you closer, “This is how you make a kitty feel real good.”

“Oh,” you sigh, leaning back into him. All the while the man watches, horrified, at gunpoint. “Oh god,” you whisper, arching your breasts up, “Fuck me, baby.”

Edward looks down, but the sound of Pope cocking his pistol lifts his gaze right back up. “Watch this shit, you fucking pig,” Pope growls, “Watch and see what you could get if you were me.”

You moan again, feeling your pussy react. You’re gonna come, _you’re gonna come—_

Pope reaches into your shorts, down your panties, and curls two of his fingers inside you, as deep as they’ll go. “Now ride my thigh, little pony,” he whispers, nipping at your ear, “Ride it til you can’t ride no more.”

You grind down against his clothed leg, gasping as your orgasm starts to build.

“Tell me ‘bout it,” he mumbles, brushing your hair away from your ear and gripping you around the back of the neck like a marionette.

“S-so good,” you respond, “So good, I’m—I want your cock so bad!”

“Jesus,” Edward mutters, and you remember he’s even there, watching.

“Jesus ain’t in the room right now,” Pope grins, kissing down your face to your neck, “Not a chance in hell he’s making an appearance after I do… this.”

_“Ahhh!”_

Whatever he’s done, you barely register—all you feel is blinding pleasure, and you ride him harder, faster, oh fuck yes, yes—

“Baby, baby,” you breathe, and he clutches your back to his chest as he fingers you through an explosive, slow, burning orgasm. Pope’s eyes close, and he breathes deeply into your hair, rocking you on his lap. 

Your eyes open lazily, and a smile sprawls across your face as you reach your arms back behind Pope’s head. You can feel the bulge of his erection, grinding against the cleft of your ass every time you move. He strokes your upper thighs softly, sending more pleasant shivers through your sated body.

“How’d that make you feel, baby girl?”

“Mmmgood.”

“Good to hear. See, Maddle—I bet you also wanted to do this.” Suddenly, Pope jerks you off of him, bends you over his knee, and smacks you hard on the ass. “Wanted to see that sweet ass jiggle. She sure loves getting punished. Don’t you, my good little whore?”

“Mhmm,” you groan, arching your back, “Please sir, may I have another?”

“I appreciate your manners, but kitten—we both know they won’t get you shit with daddy,” Pope says, and spanks you even harder this time. You cry out, fingers tightening onto his leg as your breasts rub together.

Edward is watching, enraptured, and Pope looks up lazily, eyes half-lidded. “Think she’s had enough?” 

“I—I couldn’t, uh—” The pistol raises. “Fuck! I think so!”

You pout, and Pope sighs, looking down at you. “Hear that, babygirl? This man seems to feel that you’ve got all the punishment you deserve.” He lets you off of his lap. “In all seriousness… you don’t deserve punishment for nothing. Edward here, well—he’s a different story. But,” Pope looks up, giving a dark smile, “We’ll get to his dead ass in a minute.”

“Y-you’re gonna k-kill me, aren’t you?!”

Mildly annoyed, Pope looks up at Edward again. “I don’t believe I said it was question time.” He looks at you, then to his crotch. You immediately know what to do, crawling forward and unzipping him. You free him from his boxers, and absolutely revel in the noise he makes, the low groan of approval as you lick him tip to base.

“That’s how it’s fucking done,” he breathes, head tilting back, and you kitten lick around the vein down the side of his impressive length. After a second, you feel his fingers thread into your hair, and wait for the oncoming thrash of pain you’ll feel.

Pope jerks your head down, and moves your mouth rapidly up and down his wet cock as he thrusts in. He knows your safe word. You know your safe word. Edward doesn’t, but fuck that guy.

“This what you thought you’d get tonight, pig?” Pope asks calmly, barely even breaking a sweat as he fucks your mouth rough. “You thought you’d get my girl’s mouth wrapped around your dick, tits bouncing in your face?” He nods slowly as Edward stands, petrified, by the door. “It’s a sweet fantasy. Interestingly enough, it’s your last.”

“Mister, fucking hell, I just—”

_BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. **BANG**._

Pope pulls you off his dick gently, standing and taking a shotgun out from under the bed. Careful to aim correctly, he uses the butt of it to then whack, whack, _whack_, bashing Edwards skull all over the floor. With a swift kick to his ribs, he nearly breaks the dead man in half, then drops the weapon. He doesn’t bother to wipe the specks of blood off his face, as he turns back to you.

You’re kneeling, waiting eagerly, so he gives you what you want. He stands overtop of you, legs spread, jerking off with slow, deliberate strokes, cock positioned just over the tip of your waiting tongue.

“Take it,” he whispers, and comes in thick ropes over your tongue and across your mouth. His whole body shudders with the force of his orgasm, and you take all of it as his breathing speeds up. When he’s done, he watches you keenly as you lap him up, tuck him back, and stand. He gives you a stroke against the chin. “Picture perfect.”

You toss the ID card into the pool of blood that was once the man who tried to force himself on you. “We grabbing the pay… then heading home tonight?” You loop your arms around your hit-man’s middle. He kisses your forehead, and takes out a Virginia Slim to light between his bloody fingers.

“Mmm. Daddy’s work here is all done.”


End file.
